Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Free Verse Mystery Poems | Free Verse Poems About Mystery

These Free Verse Mystery poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Mystery. These are the best examples of Free Verse Mystery poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Free verse | |

Deep Down Trauma Hounds


Deep down trauma hounds
nipping at the shadows in my mind --
it's ironic that in light's absence,
certain things can be easier to find.

Tried running away from my roots,
only to devour an apple fallen from the tree.

When I looked into your eyes
I knew that you were never coming back again,
having changed far too many times.

Didn't envy the broken circuitry of your brain,
but instead, I spat upon the seven sins,
jealous of how quickly you could change.

I tried so hard to change for you;
to catch up to the channel-surfing that flickered through your head,
not realizing soon enough, that you had become the walking dead.

There I stood as the fool ....
.... no matter how many times I pulled another card from the deck,
it was always the Fool, I chose.

Threw myself into the muddy water,
and awoke upon a foreign shore,
a tropical drink offered to me by a stranger struck with curiosity.

Threw myself from a mountain of mirrors,
only to bounce on a bed of invisible heather, below,
brushed myself off without a scratch or bruise
while viewing the horizon from a tarot-riddled plateau.

Descending into a forest of spirit trees,
I found a woman -- or maybe, she found me --
who is willing to hold onto darkness,
for without darkness, light is an improbability.

Deep down trauma hounds
nipping at the shadows in my mind --
it's ironic that in light's absence,
certain things can be easier to find.



2014 Penetration Remix
September 21st, 2014




+/-


Details | Free verse | |

THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 


Details | Free verse | |

Double Phantasy

Mama, did you know the precious amethyst shadow hours
I spent beside you, cuddled cosy-close, nestled in blankets of light,
shawled in your red-gold hair? I kissed each tear you cried;
each one a starlight pearl forged from the depths
of your fragile soul. I rocked seashell-shut to each lullaby note
and silently watched as you rocked my cold, empty cradle.
Sometimes you sensed me coiled at your breast -
a small balled knot of grief. You felt my tiny fingers plucking at you
as tingling shivers. And sometimes I bounced sunshine-free
on your knee, a giggling orb of light.

Little one, once again I felt you here,
entombed in the womb of this eternal everywhere room,
your spirit sifting through my fingers like hourglass sand.
Pain has blanked my mind wraith-white, but I felt
your lips nip the warm rosebuds of my nipples
as I pressed a lullaby to the delicate shell of your ear
and brief blessed seconds spun out like years.
My sentient heart will always hold you, my grip will never slip
as my earthbound hands, human-warm, reach through time
and heather-shadowed ether to love and care for you.





*'phantasy' is a deliberate misspelling, an amalgamation of 'phantom' and 'fantasy'


Details | Free verse | |

Obsidian

An almost stillness came about
as she strode into my door,
like breath itself refused to move,
fearful of touching her mysterious beauty

But her obsidian eyes betrayed her. 

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
she looked at me, 
and I knew…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Molten lava spilled forth from her mouth, melting our clocks—
eighteen hundred nightmares compressed in two hours.
Long hand moving forward, as the short hand moved backward
How can memories persist in such an acrid life?

She spoke of a beast in the guise of a man,
 one who ravaged innocence with the flick of a click
A coward that collected milk teeth for hardened bones
of other horny beasts with no spine

That throaty tenderness when she spoke 
sprinkled crystal seeds of frustration in me
She says he loathed him, denied she loved him
but her obsidian eyes betrayed her

There she was, a bud he plucked from the nuns’ garden
He grafted then he pruned her, 
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent
yet folding her petals to himself

Caterpillars feeding upon her leaves,
she lets them devour her,
yet once they are wrapped in their cocoons to sleep,
she stabs them with her thorns.

Tears then slid down from her midnight lace eyes
and it was all I could do to catch them
She said she was weary of curtailing butterflies,
of tearing their wings before they can even fly

I had to ask, how many… how many winged gems?
She lifted her sleeves, and showed me her scars
One ugly mark for each innocent child plunged deep,
my heart getting slashed at least three hundred a beat.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------


A certain stillness came about
as I strode into her door,
like fear itself refused to move,
letting breath touch her mysterious beauty for the last time....

Her obsidian eyes had betrayed her. 

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
I looked at the knife beside her.

Maroon-mapped sheets, a stunted womb.
 
Strains of Bon Iver’s “Flume”
flit past the sighing air like a butterfly,
and I knew…









08112014


Details | Free verse | |

Pulse

Inner conflict dissolves under your lunar eclipse
playing across my fingertips and lips 
tracing the hoodoo of your hips,
causing me to burn down into cinder-sticks
reborn as a Baton Rouge Phoenix
by the gravitational pull of Jupiter
orbiting in your eyes.

Rising above the ashes,
siphoning-off the swamp,
I collide in a slippery mudslide
of euphoria, until steam blows off
and only spring water remains
raining upon soil sprung apart
by the Trident of Hermes,
exposing for us naked iron
to place into a flame
dancing along liquid-skin language.

The extraction of you being the exception,
leaves behind a hole
to bury our fortresses of tragedy
grappling in our roots;
now broken-apart by our roots,
until the last crumbling stone 
sprouts into untainted sheaths -
rigid - yet willing to bend

with the mending currents
of change. Becoming cleaner within, 
hanging onto a truth to be found 
in the wholesome speck of dirt 
longing for my fingertips and lips
to feel the hoodoo in your hips;
a complementary dish of duality
alongside your whispers bleeding 
into the blood-waves of my heart
merging with your lunar pulse.






.


Details | Free verse | |

let sacred delirium flow

(in-between wakefulness and dreaming, in-between free verse and prose....it flows - I wouldn't trade it for candy-coated couplets, nor silky sonnets set in cities of gold, for my delirium is uninhibited, unhinged, freely flowing) delirious non-linear shutter-frames capture us over there, here now, before - a nuance, a taste on the tip of my tongue leading me towards need without a name nor face. Prying open other people to see if you were inside. Searching for a known desire with an unknown label, to find something never actually lost - to make it more palpable - closer. Crawling out of my skin, out of my skull, slinking through invisible trees, you appear: a jungle cat licking my mind - you always made love to my soul first, before enticing me with a liquid growl off-set by the pitter-patter of paws and purring. Your purr, your velvet purr rumbles for my submission. Willingly I accept the invitation of vulnerable humility bowing towards a fearless trust lush with a luminary borderless meshing, catching up to right now. - Right now - Your black-light curvaceous muscled trembling licks my mind, my body, my hands and mouth glide across your skin, testing the earth for stability. The tectonic plates of my belly quake resettle within your womb. Inside-outside, outside-inside a lotus-soul union, just as ancients had hinted, dissolving, letting you devour me, before I drink from your salty grail. Over-stimulation leads to an un-thinking deep rhythm, waves pushing out - in until the shoreline and tides become indistinguishable, a backdrop to a pace quickening. Outside-inside of you, you are outside-inside of me, there is no longer the need to fear unknowns, for the unknown guides us higher, guides us ever deeper, until even our release merges with the flow of ancient rippling rhythm. .


Details | Free verse | |

Pompeii

When nature takes a turn for the worst
grumbling rumbles shakes 
great balls of fire falling 
in her tears black snowfalls

Burning smell of sulphur burns
rolling down the mountains molten lava
they salute death rivers of flames
the chariots of Hell's fire

Crying infants wailing out mercy
embraced in their mothers arms
held together with fathers
They roared to the Gods for help  
falling silver ashes remains 

Imagining God had forsaken them
as the skies disappeared from their eyes
falling into the darkening death vision
Their universe plunged into darkness

Victims they felt death falling upon them
A deadly feeling they are the children 
cursed by the damned volcano
No where to run
No where to hide

They stop and the black ash swallows them
like a carpet of night forever gone 
but always remembered in hearts 
the fall of a great city in living history 
truly lives forever in the archives of our time 




I would be the Celtic gladiator  


Details | Free verse | |

THE HANGING TREE

Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of 
Destiny’s say.
On judgment hill from on high, 
Voices do echo downwards, as the 
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
Hangman's tree.
These gallows, of oaken branches, act as tethers,
 Shackles, holding the forsaken, souls prisoner.
Ghost phantoms cling, to it's rotten limbs,
That break beneath times endless rampage.
Regrets fallen horsemen, of the old west, 
Stand guard, sentinels on horse back,
Wearing a tarnished tin star.
God's law keepers, are  branded, sworn,
By their honor, to protect even after death,
The gates of heaven, from this spawn of hell.
Beware evil desperadoes, no mercy will
This the lord's posses show unto you, 
For these riders bare a different mark.
A silver cross of justice, given by
The Almighty’s hand himself.
Say thy prayers, all lawless men,
For on this day, does the rope tighten,
Around your neck, there is no reprieve,
No salvation for evils deceit.
Hell bound are thou, the devils breed.
But beware, there is no escape,
From this grave site.
At dawns first light, as it spreads
 Across the western horizon.
Know that yee, are one of many spirits
Doomed, to be weaved within the
Tangled limbs, called the hang
Mans tree.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


 


 

 


 

 


 

 


 


Details | Free verse | |

Isle of Bast

Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels 
on a fast, frigid tide -
events that transpired outside 
the confines of rhyme,
instead, unfolding exactly 
as they were meant to.

I had never before seen
so many shades of gray.
This monochromatic splendor
was awe-inspiring,
within an absence of sunshine
that was perfectly fitting,
instead of being bleak and bleary.

The smell of salt and seaweed
awoke deep within me 
something dormant and eternal - 
a surging desire to flush
stagnant disease
from out of my blood
with an inverted force of pride.

Salty blood and water
coming together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.

A flash of bright red 
digging in the sand beside me.
My child is wearing the only
vibrant colour to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches
her enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame.

My own fire burns in my eyes.
I had unconsciously dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
as a chameleon --
an illusion thicker than clouds,
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.

I look over at my daughter
who is wearing a wide smile of wonder,
for she has not ever seen the ocean before.
She can see the chameleon
walking alongside her in the frothy surf.
Together, we collect shiny stones and shells,
our pants rolled-up to the knee
as we wade through waves.

I wonder if people onshore
can only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon is more
noticeable than I had thought,
while we watch sea-birds
cover the steep cliffs
in a blanket of black and white feathers.




~(2012 North Sea Remix)~






.


Details | Free verse | |

Midnight...You Are My Sun

In all the earnest buds
                  that long to open…..
and ambrosial May promises

I tried in the silence
and the rush of the storm
that rages wild and unkempt
to fight this consuming
                        To cease the feeling….
To halt the sticky sweetness
(berries on your lips)

I can’t stop it…baby
 
It’s there in every hour
In the breaking of the dawn
painted pink and washed in fire

In the turbulent waves of blue
and salt rain on my face
In the way you speak 
                           and caress me
and the way your eyes just mess me

In the stark speech of branches
and the reawakening of flowers
The breeze that teases my hair
and tosses it carelessly

It’s just always there
stroking and breaking
                   and rebuilding me
Crashing me to jagged rocks
and yet spreading my wings
to fly your passion sky

In the dream of something
came the reality of you

In the fantasy of a wind’s embrace
                came your precious face
and now I am powerless….
just helpless to stop this

My exposed heart blasts out
this eternal hankering……
this infinite crimson crush

A war against the pitching
A battle against this tumble
A railing combat…yet….

Aye! In the night that steals the sun
In the clouds that whisper achromatic hues
and the freesia and lilacs 
                     and violets….. I see you
You are there just waiting
Always……relentlessly….I fall

Oh baby, I just can’t stop this

I fall, hard in a breathless fumble
Into your waiting heart

Like a trembling cat
I curl in your lap
I am so in love with you…


Details | Free verse | |

Preacher's Son


I am the Preacher's son
who stole the bread
and broke it with a wrinkled face,
the essence weaving behind her retinas.
____

When I stole from the church,
Mrs. Worther 'the bird', had spied me
sneaking out the vestibule door,
from her usual early service perch
in the very back pew.

She carried this secret for many years,
including when she caught me eavesdropping
on midweek board meetings
from behind crates of cheap wine.
Instead of showing scorn,
she had given me a warm wink,
offering a lesson
by leaving me there to think.

Mrs. Worther
who had been my Sunday school teacher,
had made me study the lessons
without ever becoming a preacher --
especially later,
when it came to my thievery
and excursions into the park,

where I broke the bread
with a wrinkled face,
the essence shimmering behind her retinas.

I am the Preacher's son,
who instead found the presence
amongst ducks and swans,
when I broke the bread
with that crazy old lady -
gleaned what I needed to do,
and since then,
have never again
sat in another pious pew.

So now,
I am the 'bad' Preacher's son.
Some people whisper righteously
how I have come undone,
made a pact with the dark,

while I break the bread
with that age-old essence in the park.



Inception Re-mix
March 24th, 2014
(originally written: March 24th, 2010)


+/-


Details | Free verse | |

- Desert - So Far The Eye Can See -

 



Sahara the world's largest - the strictest and warmest desert 
It is an ocean without water - a place of fear blast knuckles on the desert floor 
Eight nomads on camels shrouded in white cloth - only the eyes are visible 
How can they find their way in a landscape without trails - no horizon
Once again the sun set - the camels will create nearly invisible tracks in the sand


The sand dunes are changing during the day 
Experience the unusual beauty and exotic charm  
There is so much that amazes and impresses 
The hot sand is like flour and make the sky yellow misty and foggy solar disk 
And the air quivers with intense heat - sand glistens in wonderful colors






15.09.2014
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved 




Contest Name :	IN THE DESERT
Sponsor:	Nette Onclaud
Deadline:	10/14/2014 


- Thank you for my 7th place in the contest -


Details | Free verse | |

Ribcage

Split apart your ribcage,
Open up the corridor, and let me come in
Uneasiness instantly strikes through me
Let me sway away...
Let me flutter away...
Like a butterfly out of its cocoon 
I'm trapped!Let me depart

Split apart your ribcage,
Unwrap me, let me go!
Believe me...reflect on me
Let me sway away...flutter away
Let us both seek the sun,
So we can grow together once more


Details | Free verse | |

Lantern on the Water


Place my mind into a boat
doused with kerosene.

Create a lantern on the water:
light the boat a-flame
and push it out to sea.

Then my heart will be more free.






04.06.2013




+/-


Details | Free verse | |

Cornflower Blue

(a conversational collaboration with Christine Ueri)



"remember the dream I had when we were 10?
(waves and waves of cornflowers everywhere)
about the boy and the closet?
(sunflowers, circle, glass house?....closet, yes)
cornflower blue
(the closet was cornflower blue?)
the light in that dream was cornflower blue
(the air, the atmospheric light?)
yes, especially in the closet

I had that dream for so long
I'll never forget
little boy blue and the kingfishers --
the blue and white china plates
with the bridge and the lovers; the two doves in the willow tree,
that made me look for japanese letters....horse.
 
the funny things we do as children

(you are writing a poem....)
catch the words, my love
(you already wrote a poem up there; bridge it together --
I dried cornflowers with dandelions in a blue and white book; but it wasn't a dream.
Well, in a way it was, because at the time, I was floating in the clouds)

he wore a blue and white striped top in my dream

and I remember him
when I look at the sky,
the clouds and the golden sun --

I caught the words!
(yes! did you string them all together?)

not yet!"



                                                                                 
                                                                                



August 29th, 2012



Details | Free verse | |

THE HAUNTED HOLLOWEEN

It is the magic held within the darkness, the whispering of the night winds,
Echoing through haunted graveyards, cast are thus ancient spells, illuminated
Beneath the harvest full moon, in this eerie landscape the underworld is 
Released, and the undead are free to walk amongst the living, mingling on
This sacred holiday of mysticism, and it is so called, Halloween.
In the ethereal shadows figures move with shades dark eloquence,
As ghostly phantoms enchant the souls of the innocent, passions
Pleasures soothes the hearts of sadness, for tonight the very air itself
Is magical, offering a moments release for the spiritually condemned,
Until the last stroking bong of midnight, is heard off in the distance.
Sorcery's wicked witchy women, fly by sources unseen power of the
Supernatural, cackling with laughter's wild sounding of the jackal, do
They weave their intricate incantation's, to capture their victim's of hearts desire.
Blooming on the mountain side, the wolf bain does blossom, and hidden
Beneath its evergreen leaves, is the star gazer dressed within wolves
Furry garments, howling love sick, unto his ill fated mate, she so answers
With screams reply, and the pack adds another member, and now
These forbidden lovers run together, beside the path of humanities kindred.
Mischievous tricksters are they; poltergeists playing trick or treats pranks,
Vaporous creatures whom thoroughly enjoy frightening humanity unto 
Their inner most core.
But heed my warning dear friend; call no priest, for blessing sake for
These demons of mists, shall reek, havocs vengeance upon thee, 
Instead leave them well enough alone.
A twisted fellow is Mr. Jack-O-Lateran, appearing body less, with his head
Impaled upon fencing’s spike, what a Gringrichy grimace does he so make,
As a candles light aglow shines from within, his mounted handled top hat,
Exposing the freakish smile on his orange pumpkin face.
The vamperic ring master, on this night of horrors terror, welcomes the unwary
Traveler, to take part in this celebration extravaganza, come one and come all.
Let us so partake in these evenings’ festivities, El Carnival, 
As the children of the night, serenade mankind in the back ground,
Beyond our earthy realm.
As the mornings first rays of light, brush their finger tips across the
Horizon's canvas, the darkness is banished once again, creeping 
Beneath the under belly of the sun, as all evil creatures melt, and fading
Within the shades hollows, until next years celebration takes place once
More, on this darkest of holidays, called Halloween.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

SNOW DUST

Melting tears of the moon is snow dust, frozen droplets
Turning into flakes of white icy lace, that cling to the baron
Limbs of the tree tops, for it is winters grace, a frozen
Kiss given unto autumns last sighs of farewell, until
The next seasons change takes place.
Softly floating wisps of thin frozen mists, shifting
Ever lightly, gracefully unto the winds, tenderly
Aloft, free falling paper thin crystals of ice,
Cascading downwards unto the frozen earth below.
Layers of delicate texturing of refineries elegance,
Transforms this landscape of falls color burst, into
A winter wonderland of frost and white icings
Gleaming brilliance.
A kingdom of flickering diamonds is show cased
Beneath the lunar shine, of the light hanging within
The heavens above, a glittering field of gems
Illuminated by the elliptical sphere, Called the moon.
In this picturesque display, the writer ponders
Humbly, to the wonders of nature’s masterful
Hands of creation, to be able to create such 
Beauty on
 this frozen canvas, and the poet
Is left in awes wake of hushed expression.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Darkness Of Night

Darkness of night,
introduce me to what lurks
underneath your enchanting moonbeams.
I know that I should stay away,
yet, I am drawn to these silent things
that could easily end me.
I am not afraid of the supernatural.
I am spellbound, enraptured, mystified
by these psychotic creature's requiem dance,
that captures my soul
as it's own possession.

Darkness of night,
take me into your underworld,
where the arms of roaming specters
can totally envelope me,
like a densely tangled spider-web,
with no intention to ever let go.
Allow them to take me away,
to a deep place where, peacefully,
my dying soul can finally rest.

Darkness of night,
tell the devil only this....
he can have all of me,
to punish in any befitting manner.
I have already been through torture,
known pain, lived with loneliness,
and seen hell on earth.
The devil may care to try,
but he cannot hurt me any more.

Darkness of night,
say goodbye for me.
Shout high up to the heavens
and tell the sun it needs to shine
no longer on me.






Dark Poetry Contest



Details | Free verse | |

Stygstrome - Updrafts


"Stygstrome" is the Afrikaans version of "Updrafts", one of my earliest poems (including some showcased naivety :D), and is the first poem that I ever publicly    posted online, right here on poetrysoup.com, 3 years ago to the very day. 

I am also including the English version to this post.



Swart vere absorbeer altyd
die meeste sonskyn -
'n Volmaakte fusie
van donker en lig.

Ebbe oë glinster 
hoog in die kalm, koue hemelruim.

'n Vinnige daling
tot vlerkpunte
sagkuns soen,
die byna onsigbare
boom-toppe deurdring 
digte Winter se mistigheid. 

Sterk strome strik skielik, 
'n Voël van staal
donder oorhoofs,
breek die antieke fokus
met sy dreunende, magtige brul.

Herwin gedagtes.

Stryk neer,
sirkel,
sweef
in 'n stygende vlug
van suiwer vergenoegdheid.

Swart vere absorbeer altyd
die meeste lig --




Black feathers always absorb
the most sunshine -
a perfect fusion
of dark and light.

Ebony eyes glitter 
high in the calm, cold sky.

A quick dip downwards,
until wing-tips
gently kiss
the nearly invisible
tree-tops piercing
thick Winter's fog.

As currents suddenly catch hard,
a bird of steel
thunders by overhead,
breaking ancient focus
with its loud, powerful roar.

Regain thought.

Swooping,
circling,
gliding,
soaring
in a flight 
of pure contentment.

Black feathers always absorb
the most light.





*A warm thank you to the ever-lovely Christine Ueri for finding 
the perfect Afrikaans words to poetically translate this poem.




*


Details | Free verse | |

Mermaid's Milk: a collaboration with the still dashing David Williams

The moss clung tightly; making it unbearable to breathe, 
and she sealed her lips tighter than a clam’s— not letting the pain take over

As the stars drift silently, like ships on a lost sea of darkness,
she whispers to Hope: 
“Swim free and look for the horizon, then come back to me...”

The night; collected on the leaves, 
       drops fell like Mermaid’s milk onto an already moist floor
Striking the shimmering tearful medium, 
         it gives birth to a shower of graceful pearls as the dawn awaits

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hear your voice drift upon a cool ocean breeze; 
              gilded words of adoration 
I glide towards it, praying that it guides me, 
          strengthens me, 
                nurtures me 
  like Mermaid’s milk

Touch as I might, my senses are in-different to please, my voice mute!
Be my Siren’s song and sing for me, serenade my senses back to life...

With an inquisitive tongue, I taste an almost scentless flower 
It is but a wisp, a whisper, a flick of a ray of sunshine, but it was There.

So much is lost. 
    The rivulets of time, hear me, see me, like a ghostly apparition...
Capture me in that moment by lovingly painting me. 
Sing me a song while you do, 
            and let the Mermaid’s milk flow again.




*****
Thank you David, for waiting ever so patiently for my long overdue part-- 
it was a very nice challenge for me to write this :) 
Thank you very much for the inspiring lines...


Details | Free verse | |

Breathe

This dance feels resurrected
Right down to the cherry stains on your sleeve
And the tapestries that look like iron will
But are really shadows cleverly woven to imply it.

I can not see here
The lights are too low
But sometimes things are better seen
When lit by the lanterns of the mind instead.

They look brighter
Redder
Closer to real
Than real could ever be.

We were here once before
A thousand years ago give or take a century.
I spoke with a carnelian tongue
You tasted like pomegranate seeds.

Going back there again
Carrying that same tune
Becoming crimson
Becoming other
Breathe

I lost my breath
You gave me yours
You held me
You said
Breathe


Details | Free verse | |

Little Blue Pill

Went through a phase....thought maybe I should live life to the fullest,
and stop giving away 8 hours of each day, towards sleeping.

After the first week of sleep deprivation,
Buddha and Jesus both appeared simultaneously,
started following me wherever I went-
couldn't tell between hallucinations and reality.

Buddha helped write my final exams,
and Jesus always made sure that I didn't forget to eat.

After the second week, I was floating above my body....
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep anymore-
didn't just have second and third winds....I was having winds 
to the 99th power extreme.
Jesus was telling me to try again and again,
while Buddha told me to hang in there,
for Nirvana was just around the corner.

Asked my buddy for some help,
and he gave me this little blue pill -
don't even touch aspirin anymore.

Well, the pill knocked me right out! 
Tried so hard to fight against it,
having some doubts about what I had just swallowed.

Metallic galaxies of inner stars began pulling at my eyelids,
adding their massive core-gravity to my temples.
Red turned to black inside of my mind,
as little globules of pulsing light
floated before my inner-eye.
Down,
down,
d      o      w      n,
down, I spiralled,
thinking about picking cherries from the apple tree in Eden....
beautiful Japanese Geishas propping up the ladder
that pointed down into the rabbit hole.
Up was down,
as cherries were apples?
The branches of the tree resembled its roots in the ground-
perfect mirrors of each other,
as I sat in both places at once;
dream double looking back at me.

ZZzzzzZzzzzZZzzzZZZz....for almost 62 hours straight.
Must have lived a thousand lives in those dreams.
Woke up, wasn't sure if I was still sleeping?
Awoke into sweat and stale urine.
Started falling asleep in school.
Fell asleep at work.
Once you swallow the blue pill,
you can never go back-
the rabbit hole stretches into eternity.


Details | Free verse | |

FEMALE SPIRIT


women of dusk and dawn who love to feast on their senses in a banquet ripened by love and courage, chilled to last till the moonlight bequeaths more hours for stories about earth's flesh... oh, let the first drone of music praise the female spirit voluptuous as hips sashay in gaiety wildly wet, empresses hunting for the eyes of god in men softly flowing in veils of mystery that hover in the fragrance housed in chambers of rich legends and reality: taste their tears, cuddle the apples of fertile breasts… yet no one can touch their essence or own life’s primeval wombs; women are women like their children defying any explanation. ..................... Kelly Deschler's Women Only Contest by nette onclaud... new poem


Details | Free verse | |

BLACK WATER

Smooth as ebony silk, black aquatic waves the melting
Essence of liquid evil, stirring this lake placid of our
Eternal nightmares, deadened space in the fathoms
Deep, beneath the dreaming realm for which we sleep.
Translucent tears, left dripping in our unconscious mind,
Trick, trickling, encroaching, drowning us within the
Fear factor, heaving, and tugging at the reality of
Humanities thin realism.
Raw is this blackened well, of emotional plunging,
A pit bottomless, in suctions raw force of power.
Thy soul trying to cling against the porcelain sides,
Yet sliced by the roughed edge of illusions delirium.
Sheer glasses elliptical memorization, hypnotizing
The lucid mind, smacking hands blister at the panes,
Begging for this bad dream to end.
But your voices scream remain nothing except
Echoes refrains, that are lost amongst the complete
Darkness surrounding thee, in this murky abysses
Tidal surge.
Wake up, wake up, this is not real or is it,
The torn spiritualist grasps at faiths buoy, but
Instead sinks farther below the currents swift
Under currents, then light slits through the dark,
As lightening slashes at the blackest night, and
The dreamer shivers beneath his covers warmth.
Laying within his twisted sheets of sweat,
He wonders if any of it was real at all!
But whom can tell what lucks under the black
Waters of our nightmares, dare you to go swimming,
Into the rivers of the unconscious to find out, and survive.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Free verse | |

Night's sentry

Oh blackest night,
how elegantly you 
do decorate your canopy.
Twinkling stars 
sparkle gloriously 
in the Heavens.
Brightest yellow moon
shining it's beautiful face,
keeping watch as sentry
to Earth's mysterious gates.


Details | Free verse | |

Only You....

.
 in the aromatic silence
         flowers scent the air
candle flicker glimmers
        supple soft shimmers
of pale tangerine 
      and swirls of pale rose 


in long slow sensuous moves
yes…soft compliant stretches
I lay supplicant on satin sheets
      I await you, my love

in the moonlight in moans
        I plead for you

    hair in erratic disarray
  rusty tendrils fall unruly....
         and body taut
    in love stricken passion 
      drugged still seconds
        my breath caught
          I long for you 
I pine for your dominant eyes

   touch me on a bed of blue
       whisper those words
             “I love you:”
 and trace your tender hands
                 blindly
          down this body
   starved like a hungry cat
                for you
that’s right…..only you will do

      just you can ease the agony
            and just and only you
can wreck such havoc on my hungry heart
 wretched from the pain of loving you

you break me and make me
    
     feral rivers of tender petals
                 hot lava and liquid lust
particles of me lost in storm tossed dust

by your own creation
           I became your slave
in breathless bondage
chained to you…..weak and wanting
          (a heady thrill)

my tongue so parched I  thirst for you
       quaff from the lake of you
        dark and brooding… you
your primitive eagle spirit draws me
     like a fluttering helpless moth
                  (desiring)
drawn inexorably to your raw flames

        can you feel me my love?

         your body I worship
              and I wait….
        tied up here….I wait…..
           for just and only you


Details | Free verse | |

Probing the Unconscious Space

If the unbearable lightness of being has pushed you to the brink of catastrophic meltdown,
walk to the edge of our flat two-dimensional existence 
and take a leap of faith...

You may drift through space for quite some time
eyeing the stars, the planets, the galaxies
that make up the great and boring universe beyond.

Eventually you'll come across darker, scarier territory,
unseen with the naked eye
yet comprising 95% of all matter,
and all that matters,
otherwise known as the unconscious.

Some day you'll feel safer in the void, 
more secure,
at peace.

With not one mirror in sight to reflect your self concept,
everything and nothing make perfect sense here,
for they are one and the same.

You are the only observer
of man's true final frontier
and his one and only mystery.


Details | Free verse | |

The Chronicles Of Vomiticus Grammaticus - Part II: Ground Zero

Will someone please help me!?
I think Satan has possessed my gastronomical juices,
twisting up my stomach like a full garbage bag.

Please go and call over a Priest
to exorcize this demonic grip from within-
but I beg of you to get a heterosexual Father,
not one who will take advantage of my weakness.

I have been swallowing my own vomit for many days,
and can no longer hold back this thick, spewing craze.

My stomach feels more queasy than a seasick little girl,
the time is coming to launch forth my most foul hurl.

Pray to Black Jesus with my loud, retching vomit-song,
I do not want to be Vomiticus Grammaticus, for too long.



*BLAAAAAARRRRG  RRRRAAAAAALLPHHHUUUUMMMPHHHH!!*



Oh! I just filled up both large-sized garbage bins up to the brim,
with ghastly floating chunks that look so very, very grim.

Two seagulls have started slurping up my rancid spew,
filthy, feathered swine, lapping up this most sickly stew.

Ugggh! Now my cat is licking up the vomit from off of the floor,
she is purring away, gobbling up my slimy, viscous gore.

The sight of her lapping up my....



*BLAAAAAARRRRG  RRRRAAAAALLPHHHUUUUMMMPHHHH!!*



Oh hot damn, shazzam! Vomit on the keyboard! Vomit dripping from my hair;
plugging up my ears, crawling up my nose with its terrible stench! Despair!

1 fish, 2 fish, 3 fish, 4 fish.
Red puke, green puke, yellow puke, blue puke.
No Sam, I do not want any more green eggs and ham!



*BLAAAAAARRRRG  RRRRAAAAALLPHHHUUUUMMMPHHHH!!*



Will someone please help me get rid of this Devil!?
I truly only mean well; I really, really do!

Pray to Black Jesus with my loud, retching vomit-song,
I do not want to be Vomiticus Grammaticus, for too long.






*Twisted poem, in the sense that this is actually a cryptic response
to my personal dealings here @Poetrysoup.com.
I don't think a lot of people realized at the time
how Vomiticus Grammaticus was really a hidden message about
some of the social politics that goes on @Poetrysoup.com,
and most other group settings as well.




May 10th, 2010


Details | Free verse | |

The Mystery of Spring

(a Salute to Howard Moss)

Although it is not yet warm,
we have shoved to the backs of closets
snow-boots, gloves, and woolen scarves, 
locked tire chains and ice scrapers
into trunks of automobiles as if
tomorrow the first bloom appears.

Oh, stiff wind blow, hold back snow,
whose flakes unwelcome gust
while hearts claim lilac scent.
Oh, pale moon, come, lend your light.
Oh, songbird, drop your sweet notes here,
while old men's hats sail past
and girls push down their skirts—
with both hands—as purses cling
on hunched shoulders and hair-strands 
blow against cheeks. 

What is this howling wind
and who brought this mournful song,
this wild, feathered up-surging
as if tomorrow the world upturns.
We've shoved our gloves, 
our boots and scarves behind
the racks in backs of closets, 
locked away the sacks of salt,
and scoured the ground for signs
of hyacinth buds or crocus flush,

while old mens' hats sail past
and girls hold down their skirts
as purses sway and hair-strands
whip against their cheeks?
And though it is not yet warm,
there is the mystery of spring.


Details | Free verse | |

Reservoir of Dreams

Wrapped in fog, in a reservoir of dreams She has weathered each season, with a mystical scheme … On a wind-swept shelf, silently sleeping Where secrets are guarded and are hers for the keeping Looking out at the tide, where the white gulls are sweeping In her moldering courtyard, where quadrivial paths meld, Among ancient arches of an old Spanish style Names locked in history, many stories revealed Etched in the headstones, where angels have dwelled The cracked marble fountain with polished ligures, Above the church doorway, vines are withering, bare Aloft from the steeple, are the four watchful eyes Looking out to the sea, and the deep crimson tide Three vestige bells dangle from loft, overhead Their voices are quiet, with pericopes spoken Soft hymns of doves, fill the rafters, instead From crumbling ruins, bricks humbly laid There are shadows of saints...and moss covered jade A weeping old willow, with leaves crackling dry I drink with my ears, and listen with an eye Of all those who prayed, for those who passed by Unbelievable echoes, the tolling of the bells Making sense of the senseless, I can hear what it tells Giving voice to my feelings, and new hope to my eyes A peace in my heart, where the holy grail lies Are heard in the voice, in the church of blue tides
____________________________________________________________________ For The Contest Sponsored By Shadow Hamilton "Any Subject" Using Words: unbelievable, mystical, ligure, pericope, reservoir, quadrivial, 7/22/13